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As Zoox sat, he glanced down to Devo, who lay resting against his chest. He’d only noticed recently, but whenever the bard was resting, he’d be in a strange position: all curled up and leaning onto his side, his arms wrapped around his knees.
It felt strange. There seemed to be a missing piece whenever Devo fell asleep at the pilot’s chair, as if someone’s arms should be wrapped around his shoulders as he leaned against the armrest. Sleeping against Zoox’s chest, Devo seemed to perfectly fit into his friend’s embrace.
“… I wish I was a person.” Zoox blurted out, barely even realizing he’d spoken.
“You already are a person,” Devo replied, not opening his eyes. His voice was low and gravely, barely fighting against the promise of deep slumber. “I thought you already were over this.”
“No- no, I’m- I mean, I am! I meant like-” Zoox grumbled in frustration, the polyps in his chest bubbling and crackling as he struggled to find the right words. “I mean that if- if I were a person the same way you are, all soft and with bones and stuff, I would have a neck, right?” Zoox pointed to the helmet keeping his head fixed in place.
“Mhm?”
“So if I had a neck, I could… I dunno- rest my head on yours?”
Devo raised himself to look at Zoox, a perplexed expression almost betraying his exhaustion. “Why would you do that?” He asked in genuine confusion.
“Well- I dunno, because you always look so… comfortable?” Zoox shrugged.
Devo blinked, then stared at the floor in consideration.
“Huh,” he nodded, slowly easing back into Zoox’s chest, pulling his knees in and closing his eyes. “I guess I do.”